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A True War Story.

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By David W. Stafford.

Now in the commencement of this narrative and tale of my early life, I must say that a good part of my life has been somewhat gloomy. At the time of my entering the service of my country I was seventeen years of age. It was just after the first and second engagements at Bull Run.

My father was a poor man, the father of some nine children, and a shoemaker by trade. I had left home early in my youth, when about fourteen or fifteen years old, and at this time, just before the war, a boy’s chances for labor and wages paid were very small. I worked for only seven dollars a month. This was the first labor I ever performed, working by the month. Oh, how my mind goes back to childhood days!

Now in the fall of 1862, on the 28th day of August I felt it my duty to respond to my country’s call, and I enlisted in the 83rd Pennsylvania Volunteers, to serve three years.

After I had been some two years in the service, my brother, two years younger than myself, enlisted and came to the army at Rappahannock Station, on the Rappahannock River. Now I had written a good many letters home to my poor brother, advising him not to come to the army, but it was of no avail. He would and did come, but I have reason to thank God that it was his own good will, and that my brother’s life blood was not shed in vain for his country, although I did try my best to have him stay at home.

Soon after he came to the regiment and was placed in the same company with me, I was detailed to go on picket duty. Very shortly thereafter I became injured while assisting in the building of rifle pits at night and was sent from our headquarters to Washington. I had previous to this been through all of the engagements from the Antietam war, where we first found the regiment. I had participated in all of the engagements, such as the first and second Fredericksburg battles and the Chancellorsville battle, or “Stick in the Mud,” and the Culpepper battle and Mine Run, and at this place it certainly did seem as though we run, for we retreated clear beyond Manassas Junction, in the direction of Washington, and we could not stop long enough to steep our coffee without getting shelled from the rebel batteries. For six miles, on what was called the stone pike, we double marched, and it did seem as though the rebels were destined to lick us every time we met them. I had, up to the time of my brother’s coming into the army, participated in all of the engagements that our regiment had been called into.

There is one thing that I recall to memory very distinctly. It is the incident of our camping on the battle field of Bull Run, on our retreat from Mine Run, near the Rapidan River. Near this run the rebels had very strong fortifications thrown up. Now on the battle field of Bull Run our dead had just been covered—a great many by the enemy—on top of the ground, and so shallow that the bones of thousands of the dead, skulls and all others, lay on top of the ground. Oh, how sad it did seem to wake in the morning to find the country strewn with human bones for miles around, and it is one thing that I can’t forget very soon.

I had gone over the ground in the direction of Bull Run, and very close to the run, studded with trees, sat the skeleton of one of our Indiana men against a large elm tree, just as he had died one year before. I called the attention of the officers to this spectacle. The skeleton was in a sitting posture, the flesh having entirely disappeared, and on the ground lay his blue clothes. On the arms of the clothes were the emblems showing the sergeant’s stripes and the number of his company and regiment. One of the officers just touched his sabre under the chin of this skeleton and it fell all to pieces. I thought this a wonderful sight.

Now after my injury at Rappahannock Station, of which I have already spoken, and being sent to Washington, I stayed in Lincoln hospital. Here I was treated some two months and was sent home on a seventeen days’ furlough, when the Battle of the Wilderness came on. This was the first battle that my poor young brother had ever been in. As our troops were charging on the enemy’s works for the third or fourth time, my brother fell, pierced through the right thigh, and another ball passed through the shoulder very close to the heart. After the battle he lay on the field eight hours before he was finally taken to Alexandria, near Washington, and here he was placed in what was called the Haywood church. This church had been made over into a hospital in which to place the wounded soldiers.

I had not been home but a few days at this time. As soon as I found on the list of the wounded that my brother had been hurt, I went back to Washington and returned to Lincoln hospital, from which place I had received my furlough. I was very uneasy until I got a pass to go to Alexandria, where my poor brother lay dying of his wound, received in the Battle of the Wilderness. On receiving the pass and arriving at Alexandria I stayed two days. I found on leaving my poor brother that his stay in this world was very short. I went to headquarters and called for another pass and told them of the condition of my brother. They told me if I was able to travel back and forth to the city that they would send me to the front and ordered me to go back to the barracks until the next morning at ten o’clock, and, oh, with what a sad heart I spent the night, scarcely sleeping, and then to think of the suffering my poor wounded brother would have to endure! It made my heart ache as I thought of his parting words. While at his bedside he told me of a good old lady nurse who had told him of his Lord and Saviour, how He had died to redeem him, and, oh, how happy he was in all of his suffering! He would point me to the kind old nurse, tell me how much she had told him about his Creator, and it was wonderful what faith he had in God. He would tell me how much the old nurse reminded him of our mother. He told me if he could only see our poor old mother he could die contented. Oh, what sad hours these were to me! I would go out on the street to pass away the time. I felt so sad after I started to leave him and to think of his last words, when he would look up and say, “David, don’t be gone as long as you were before.” I think I saw him twice before he passed away.

Now comes almost the saddest part of my life. The next morning dawned and at nine o’clock there were collected before the doctor’s office twenty men to be looked over and sent to the front, myself being included. Some were pronounced able for duty and some were sent across the Potomac River, three miles from Alexandria, where my dear brother lay dying of his wounds.

Just as soon as I got to this distributing camp I went straight to headquarters for a pass to go to Alexandria, three miles away, and see my brother, as I thought, for the last time. I could see the spires from where I was. Well, I went and laid the matter before the commander at this place and told him of the condition of my brother and plead in tears for him to let me go to him. He told me that there were passes ahead of my request, and with all of my pleading I could not get a pass under two or three days. Well, I went around in the enclosure of the distributing camp, which was surrounded with a fence ten or twelve feet high. At the south side there was a piece of a board off, about two feet in length, and through this I finally made my way and started for the city, taking the chances of the guards shooting me. They halted, then followed me some distance, but I got to the city, and with a good deal of trouble I finally got through the guard lines that surrounded the town and went to the church where my brother was, but, oh, what a surprise awaited me! At the door or entrance I found the hospital steward and the old lady who had cared for and shown my poor brother the way to his Redeemer, and on entering to where the couch was I found to my sorrow that he had died the day before and was laid in the cemetery to rest, and it is difficult to tell what a sad night I put in that night, lying on the same couch where my poor brother had died, and thinking of what the next day would bring forth, and knowing that I had deserted from the camp. It indeed was a sad night to me, yet with my faith and trust in God I was in hopes that I would not be punished for deserting camp. Oh, how this continued to haunt me through the night: And the loss of my poor brother! All this made me very sad, indeed. Well, when morning dawned I went and gave myself up to the guards and returned to camp, and to tell you the truth, this seemed like a hopeless trip. I finally arrived at camp and went before the commander. He well remembered my pleading a day or two before and wanted to know if I understood what deserting would do to me if brought to trial. I told him I did. “Well, young man,” said he, “did you find your brother?” In this talk to me I broke down and told him plainly of finding his empty couch and of the sad night I had spent, and he told me to go to my quarters. “Young man, it is all right. I would have done the same thing myself.” This seemed to lift a great weight off me. I went to the barracks with a light heart then.

I will soon commence relating the tale of my confinement in the rebel prison and the story of my escape. After the death of my brother I had no desire to stay longer near Washington or Alexandria, but I wanted to go to the front and get into the battles for my country, and if need be die for it. I did indeed feel sad at heart at this time. Soon there came an order for the men who were able to bear arms to turn out, for part of Longstreet’s corps had come to Washington while Gen. Grant was at Richmond, to see if the rebels could not take Washington. While our army was trying to take Richmond the enemy came up on the Baltimore Pike and got almost into Washington. Here we had a very severe battle, which ended in our driving out the rebels from the city of Washington.

Now soon after our trouble with the enemy, we were sent by transport to Richmond. Here, in rifle pits and bumproofs and from forts, we had some very severe cannonading. We charged each other until we were called to go on a reconnoitering trip on the south side of Richmond and south of Petersburg, on what was called the Weldon railroad. This road we tore up and continued to hold it against all the odds that could be brought to bear against us.